47 Miscommunication (Cheeto Sex) -or- Wotsit Gonna Take?
by darnedchild
Summary: 50 Reasons to Have Sherlolly Sex #47 Miscommunication (Cheeto Sex) -or- "Wotsit Gonna Take?" It started with a misplaced cheese puff and ended with hot monkey sex, as these sort of things often do. PWP
**AN:** Thanks to Lilsherlockian1975 for the Brit Pick and betaing.

 **#47 Miscommunication (Cheeto Sex)**

 **-or-**

 **"** **Wotsit Gonna Take?"**

Molly was late. She hated being late.

She pulled her cardigan tighter around her for warmth and continued walking. An unexpected breeze caught her hair, pulling several tendrils free from her ponytail, which only seemed to increase her frustration. The theatre was just ahead; she could see the marquee as she hurried the last few blocks. With any luck Mary or one of her friends would have remembered to save her a seat.

If she was quick, and the concession queue was short enough, Molly might even have enough time to grab a snack before the film began. Her stomach issued another irritable reminder that she'd skipped lunch (with an eye toward leaving Barts a little earlier than normal in the hopes of having time to stop at home and change).

Fat lot of good that did. DI Dimmock and one of his colleagues showed up just as she was filing the last of her paperwork and insisted on viewing a body. Dimmock was all right, she'd seen him around Barts few times before, but the new one . . . It was a little like watching a mediocre Sherlock impersonator fluttering about her morgue, trying to find hidden meaning behind every bruise and fibre sample. She and Dimmock had shared a look when the other man finally gave up and admitted he had no real reason to suspect the cause of death was anything other than accidental, just as the ME's report had indicated. They left and Molly had been stuck with an additional twenty minutes' worth of paperwork documenting DI Time-Waster's poking and prodding.

As she grew nearer to the theatre she saw a pretty blonde begin to wildly wave her arm about. Molly waved back, relieved to see her friend hadn't given up on her.

"Oh God, Mary, I am so, so sorry I'm late," Molly began apologizing even before she'd reached the blonde. "You didn't have to wait out here. I mean, I appreciate that you did. I just feel bad because we're probably going to get stuck with rubbish seats, and I know how much you've been looking forward to a grown-up night out without Elizabeth-"

Mary held her hand up to curtail Molly's rambling. "Stop and take a deep breath. It's fine, I swear. I sent John in a bit ago to stake out a good spot for all of us."

"All of us?" She'd known that Mary and John had invited a few of their friends out to a pub for drinks to celebrate Mary's birthday, on to the cinema to catch a gothic romance set in a haunted house that Mary had been dying to see, then off for a late supper (and probably even more drinks). Molly had been pleased to be included in the group as her social circle had dwindled considerably after her break up with Tom, and she hadn't really had much of a chance to build it back up. She had been looking forward to the evening all week, and was rather upset that she'd been held up and missed the pub part entirely. "How many is 'all of us'?"

"Just a few people. Small handful really. Tina and Robert left already as he can't handle ghost stories without screaming like a child when things go bump in the night, apparently." Mary shrugged, looking so sweetly innocent Molly couldn't help but feel a little uneasy.

She and Mary may have only developed a real friendship in the last year—since the Watson wedding—but that didn't mean Molly couldn't tell when the other woman was obviously up to something. "What did you do?"

"You remember the guy I told you about from the clinic? Michael? I invited him so you two could finally meet."

"Please tell me you didn't." Molly couldn't have been more mortified. Did he know he was being set up on a blind date? Would he be disappointed?

"I did." Mary nodded, her face scrunched up in (not completely believable) sympathy. "Here's where it gets even worse, I'm afraid. I also invited Sabina, the weekend receptionist-"

Molly knew that name, why did she know that name? "The one you took that cookery class with last month?"

"That's her. I originally invited her and her boyfriend, but it turns out they just had a nasty breakup. Dear sweet Michael has been giving her a supportive shoulder to cry on all night. And a rather lovely reason to move on, it would seem." Mary tipped her head in the direction of a handsome couple just out of earshot.

They were standing very close together. It was clear to Molly that things were looking up for Sabina judging from the happy expression on her face. Molly sighed, a little relieved and a lot disappointed. Michael was fit and tall, and probably witty as well from the way Sabina was laughing. Damn it.

She briefly considered tossing her hat in the ring and interjecting herself into Michael and Sabina's personal space; but a quick mental reminder of her own appearance—favourite cherry cardigan, sensible khakis, sensible shoes, equally sensible ponytail that had probably turned into a frizzy mess thanks to the wind, and a sad lack of effort with her makeup (Why couldn't she have left before Dimmock showed up so she could have gone home and put on something pretty?)—was all it took to change her mind.

There would be other chances with other Michaels.

And pigs were going to learn how to fly any day now.

She sighed again, wistfully this time. "At least tell me he's got horrid halitosis and chronic nasal drip?" Molly begged.

"Sorry, luv." Mary didn't sound sorry, the traitor. "Minty fresh and not a single dribble."

The idea of hanging out with Mary and John and their friends, and getting a chance to meet new people, had seemed fun earlier; but now that it appeared she was going to be the odd woman out in a group of couples, she almost considered begging off and going home to her cat and some take-away.

Still, Molly really did want to see the film. Odd woman out couldn't be any worse than sitting in a theatre for an afternoon matinee.

"I'll get over my crushing disappointment somehow, I suppose." Molly grinned to show she was kidding. For the most part. "But warn a girl next time you try to set her up, all right?"

"Fair enough." Mary was all smiles again.

"Just let me get my ticket then, and we can go in and find John."

Mary's smile grew mischievous. "Sherlock's already on it. He got in the queue as soon as we saw you heading this way."

Molly craned her head to look for the ticket booth, easily picking out the consulting detective's distinctive curls. "You invited Sherlock?" She turned to face Mary again, disbelief colouring her voice. "And he came?"

"I didn't. Well, I did; but I didn't expect him to agree. He knew my birthday was coming up and he asked about John's plans. And then he wanted to know who all was coming. Once he heard the guest list he started hinting that the evening didn't sound as dull as he'd expected, considering most of it had been John's idea. I couldn't very well not ask him along at that point, could I? It's not as if we had anything formal planned for tonight, which is good since you were over an hour late."

Molly's face fell, her shock over Sherlock's presence momentarily forgotten as she rushed to apologize again. "I am really sorry about that. I got held up at work-"

"I'm kidding!" Mary hesitated a moment. "Look, Molly, I wasn't going to say anything because Michael was coming, but Sherlock only seemed really interested in joining us after he found out . . . Never mind, I'll tell you later." Mary pasted on that innocent grin again.

She felt him next to her before she heard him. "Ticket," Sherlock offered as he handed her the little slip of paper. He looked at Mary strangely, eyes narrowed slightly. Almost suspiciously, Molly thought. "The squeaky voiced adolescent behind the glass mentioned the previews were about to start, so we may wish to go in."

Mary called for Michael and Sabina, and the five of them hurried into the lobby. Molly hesitated, torn between being seated before the theatre went dark and not wanting to endure an empty tummy through the entire film. She realized Sherlock had stopped walking when she had, and he was waiting at her side.

"It's okay, go ahead and grab us seats. Not that you have to sit next to me, obviously. I just . . . Snacks." She pointed toward the concession stand with one finger as she stared up at him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'll make sure there's an empty seat for you. Go on. Quickly, or you'll miss the start."

Molly joined the queue and managed to get her snacks and a bottled water with a minimum of fuss. The lights were just beginning to dim when she made her way into the proper theatre. She could see Mary and John sitting next to Michael and Sabina, but there were no available seats on either side of the foursome. It took a second longer for her to notice Sherlock seated directly behind John.

The consulting detective held up a hand and didn't wave to get her attention so much as he impatiently pointed at the empty seat next to him.

She clutched her water, candy bar, and (criminally under-sized for the exorbitant price) bag of Wotsits closer against her chest and made her way up the aisle. It took a bit of manoeuvring past far too many sets of knees before she could plop into the seat Sherlock had saved for her.

A trailer began as Mary turned to whisper an apology. "Sorry. John couldn't get a full six across. We can switch if you'd rather sit next to . . ." Molly knew the other woman was talking about Michael, as if there were still a chance of salvaging a meet-cute of some sort.

Even in the dark, Molly could tell that Sherlock had tensed beside her. He probably thought they were being ridiculous, thinking about playing musical chairs in a crowded theatre. "No, it's okay, I'm good. Thanks."

"If you're sure?" Mary offered her one final out before turning to settle into her seat next to her husband.

She was, actually. She couldn't remember ever sitting this close to Sherlock before, so close that they were touching as they silently negotiated ownership of the shared armrest. He smelled good. Far too good for Molly's sanity. Her nose crinkled as she inhaled deeply, hoping to catch more of his scent. He was wearing cologne, something he rarely did as he had once told her the added fragrance could interfere with his sense of smell on a case.

Molly took a long sip of her water as the film began, and devoured her candy bar as if she hadn't eaten in days rather than several hours. The bag of Wotsits survived much longer; she was just getting ready to pop the last one into her mouth when the heroine discovered her husband and his sister had been plotting to steal her money and kill her. Molly's hand froze, the cheese puff hovering just in front of her parted lips . . . and someone behind her sneezed. She gasped and jumped, startled.

Suddenly the Wotsit was gone and the cinematic chase was on.

Blindly, Molly felt around her lap for the missing cheese puff, unwilling to take her eyes off the screen. Her hand came up empty and she automatically widened her search.

It wasn't until a strong, long-fingered hand clamped down on her wrist that Molly realized what she'd done.

Her hand was in Sherlock's lap, fingers splayed wide in their searching endeavour, touching his groin.

His firm—and growing firmer with each passing second—groin.

There was enough light for Molly to look down to where he was holding her wrist and she was holding his . . .

She gasped again.

Molly opened her mouth to apologize, to explain that she hadn't meant to grope him, she'd just been hungry (as if that would have somehow made things any less mortifying); but Sherlock gripped her wrist a little tighter and shook his head sharply. He wasn't looking at her, his eyes still focused on the screen.

Honestly, she hadn't a clue what she should do. It wasn't as if she made a habit of accidentally feeling men up. Or intentionally doing it, either, come to think of it. And definitely never in a nearly full theatre where anyone could see. She tried to discretely remove her hand from his person and felt a small bit of resistance against the movement. Not enough that she couldn't pull free from his hold, just enough to keep her frozen in shock when she realized he didn't want her to move away.

After a long, drawn out moment that felt like an eternity, but was probably no more than a second or two, his fingers freed her wrist and slowly skimmed across the back of her hand before gently-oh so gently-urging her to touch him fully.

She could feel the length of him against her palm, felt him harden even further under her touch.

Once again she almost said something. A thousand and one questions raced through her mind.

Sherlock jerked his chin forward, toward the screen and their friends in the next row, reminding her that they were surrounded by people. Molly bit back the words that would have probably tumbled out in a barely coherent jumble anyway, following his lead to remain silent.

After one final press of his hand against hers, and an answering push of his cock against her palm, he released her entirely. He was giving her the option to move away without protest if she wanted. Molly knew that if she did they'd both end up pretending this, whatever this was, had never happened.

She was still debating what to do when he turned his head just enough that she could see that he was watching her, studying her face for some clue or sign. Deducing her. His own expression was completely neutral, no hint as to what he was thinking at that moment.

And then he put his hand on her thigh.

Molly whimpered deep in her throat. Instinctively, she clamped her thighs together, trapping several of his fingers between them. Her hand jerked and slid against his erection, and she felt him twitch in response. They both squirmed. Sherlock's breath huffed out in a strangled gasp before his tongue flicked out to wet his lips. Molly was relieved to see that he was just as effected as she was. That, more than anything, allowed her to work up the courage to part her thighs for him.

Sherlock hesitated, as if waiting to see if she was going to push him away. Molly took a deep breath before slowly nodding, giving him permission to continue. She was desperate to see where he was planning to take this.

How far he was willing to go.

He squeezed her thigh and then drew back, and she immediately missed the warmth of his hand. Molly didn't even try to tell herself she wasn't disappointed and hurt. If this had all been some weird diversion, simply because Sherlock was bored . . .

She barely had a chance to yank her own hand back before Sherlock leaned forward and 'whispered' loud enough for everyone nearby to hear, "It's not that cold. Here, take this if it will stop your teeth chattering."

Mary turned to glare at him over her shoulder. Her censoring frown quickly faded as Sherlock slid from his seat into a crouch so he could remove his coat and unceremoniously dump it into Molly's lap. It would have been a sweetly chivalrous gesture if Molly had actually been cold.

She offered a quiet, if slightly confused, thank you and shrugged apologetically at Mary.

As soon as their friend turned back to the film, Sherlock lifted the armrest between their seats and spread the heavy coat across both of them. Immediately, almost eagerly, his hand was back on her thigh under the concealing cover of his Belstaff. His fingers slid inward, teasing against the inseam of her trousers.

She wanted to touch him again; practically vibrated with the need to make him gasp once more, to see the heat of desire in his eyes when he looked at her.

But still she hesitated, unsure if she'd actually be able to go through with something so daring in such a public place.

"You were much bolder a moment ago," he whispered against her ear. The warmth of his breath and the barely there brush of his lips against her sensitive flesh made her tremble. "Have you changed your mind?"

Changing her mind would imply that she had deliberately made the decision to grope him in the first place. Which she hadn't.

Did it really matter, though?

When it came right down to it, she had put her hand on Sherlock's cock and he—quite obviously—enjoyed it. Was encouraging her to do it again, even. Did she really want to quibble about how it all started?

And then he shifted his hand just a bit higher so that his fingers were fully pressed against the crux of her thighs, and the last fleeting traces of Molly's hesitation disappeared like smoke in the wind.

She put her hand on his stomach, fingers splayed apart and pointed downward, and followed the trail of shirt buttons to trouser snap to his zipper and the prize that lay just behind it. Sherlock stilled his own hand so they could both concentrate on what she was doing to him. Her curious fingers mapped his hard length and girth as much as possible through the confines of his tight trousers. He rolled his hips upward just enough to make it very, very clear that he approved.

Molly began to feel restless. There was an ache building inside her, an emptiness that needed something more. Something only Sherlock could give her.

He must have felt her shifting, noticed the change in her breathing pattern, or felt the growing heat between her legs. Whatever the reason, he finally began to move again, flexing those long dexterous fingers against her. It wasn't quite enough, but it was close.

She hid her face against his shoulder and tried not to moan as he abandoned her centre to slide his hand under her cardigan and brush the back of his fingers against her breast. He caught her nipple between two fingers and lightly tugged. Molly gasped at the sensation and the answering phantom pull deep in her core.

When she lifted her head she could just see the self-satisfied smirk on his lips as he pretended to watch the heroine run through the decrepit house on screen, her evil sister-in-law hard on her heels. She could tell he was inordinately proud of himself for being able to make her react like that with just a brief touch over her thin blouse.

Molly moved her hand low between his spread legs to gently cup and squeeze his bollocks. Sherlock's head fell back against the seat with a muted thump, then rolled to the side so he could glare at her through narrowed eyes. For a second she wondered if she'd gone too far-although how that could be possible considering the things he'd been doing to her until a moment ago she had no idea—then his free hand flattened over hers to increase the pressure of her touch.

In the dim light from the screen she could see him swallow hard, his Adam's apple briefly drawing her attention to the long graceful line of his neck and igniting a desire to lick and nip the skin there. When her gaze flicked back to his she saw that his eyes were bright and focused completely on her. His cheeks were flushed. When the tip of his tongue peeked out from between his teeth to moisten his dry lips, Molly clenched her thighs together and fought not to squirm.

Suddenly both of his hands were on his fly, struggling with the snap and zip. Molly froze for the long moment it took her to understand what he was doing and then her hand joined his, more of a hindrance than a help, unfortunately.

Sherlock went back to pretending to watch the film, as if their fingers weren't tangled together in a nearly frantic effort to open his trousers. Molly could tell he wasn't as calm as he appeared, thankfully. She was close enough to see that his eyes were glazed and the way he bit at his lip when the zip finally gave. He squirmed and wiggled just enough to help her get the fabric of his briefs pulled out of the way.

And then he went deathly still when her fingers brushed against the firm, velvety skin of his cock for the first time.

Molly carefully wrapped her hand around his erection, and couldn't help wishing they were somewhere else. Somewhere more private, brighter. Somewhere that she could remove the concealing coat from their laps and look her fill at the gorgeous man beside her. She heard a soft rumble—almost a growl—and then Sherlock's hips jerked upward, an unsubtle plea for her to do something. Anything.

So she did.

The first few strokes were hesitant and timid, but she gained confidence with each of Sherlock's huffs and soft hums of encouragement. Her rhythm faltered briefly when he returned his hand between her thighs. His palm rocked against her mound, his fingers searching for and finding places that made her tremble and ache for more.

"I need to touch you." Sherlock's mouth was pressed against her neck, muffling his words so that she felt them more than heard them. "God, Molly, the things you make me want. Want to feel how wet you are. Want to make you come with my fingers."

There really wasn't anything Molly could do but nod in agreement. She really, really wanted him to touch her, to make her come. If he kept talking like that, there was a very real possibility she was going to orgasm right there in her seat.

His lips brushed against her jaw as he continued, "With my mouth." She couldn't hold back a soft whimper at the mental image, and turned her head to meet Sherlock's gaze. His hot breath puffed against her lips in time with each stroke of her hand around his erection and each subtle thrust of his hips. Drops of precum were already forming at the tip of his penis, adding a new sensation to their combined movements. "Say yes, Molly."

The tension between her legs continued to grow more intense with every flex of his fingers. Just the thought of Sherlock putting his mouth there, licking her until she came . . . "Oh God, yes."

Seconds later Sherlock and his Belstaff were gone, the cinema lights came up as the credits rolled, and Molly Hooper was positive she'd never been left so sexual frustrated before in her life.

She was still trying to pull herself together when John stood up and held out his hand to help Mary stand. He turned around and frowned at the empty seat next to Molly. "Where's Sherlock?"

Excellent question, and one she had no clue as to how to answer. She shook her head and crossed her arms, painfully aware that her nipples were still erect. Thank goodness for her propensity to wear multiple layers. "One second he was here and then he wasn't."

"Probably deduced the ticket seller was a secret criminal mastermind, and he went off to compare notes," John groused as they followed the rest of the crowd out of the theatre.

She could hear Mary and the others talking about options for supper, but Molly was still reliving the last half hour in her head. Had she really done those things, in public, with Sherlock Holmes? Was it possible she'd fallen asleep and dreamt the entire thing?

John pulled out his mobile. "I'll send him a text, see if he's planning to come back or if he's had his fill of human contact for the night."

Molly choked and coughed, desperately trying not to look guilty.

Before John could finish typing his missive on the phone, Mary put her hand on his arm. "There he is, and I think he's spotted us." She waved to make sure.

Sherlock finished crossing the lobby and joined them. His Belstaff was buttoned up which made Molly bite at her lower lip as she remembered the state he'd been in when he'd left so abruptly.

"Sorry, had to visit the loo." He slapped his hands together and grinned. "Where to next?"

Sherlock seemed rather jovial for someone who usually avoided social gatherings like this one. Even John looked perplexed and a little worried.

They moved outside in an effort to get away from the noisy crowd and continued their discussion about supper. Michael started to remind Mary that she'd been talking about wanting some decent seafood, and out of the corner of her eye Molly saw Sherlock step up to the kerb. She absentmindedly nodded when someone asked her a question, her focus on Sherlock as he hailed a cab.

"Oh for God's sake, what is he doing now?" John grumbled as a cab pulled up.

The consulting detective leaned down to speak with the driver through the car window, then stood up to face their group with a grin. "Sorted it out yet?"

"Well," Mary began. "We were talking about seafood and-"

"Sounds great." He bounced forward the three steps necessary to reach Molly's side and took her elbow. "Right, well, Molly mentioned she forgot something in her rush to get here so we're going to swing by and get it."

She had no idea what he was talking about. "But I don't-"

"Need it? Oh, I think you do, Molly." Her knees went weak at the way his voice dropped low and deep. "I know I'll feel much better once you've had it."

"Oh!" Molly squeaked. "Yes, you're right, I definitely need that . . . thing. That I need. Yes." She knew she must have sounded like an idiot but she couldn't care less at that moment. Not with the searing hot look of pure desire she was getting from Sherlock to focus on instead.

He pulled them toward the cab and opened the rear door before urging her into the backseat. "We'll meet you at the restaurant then."

"But we haven't even decided where we're going yet!" John looked as if he wanted to throw his hands up in the air in frustration.

"Text us. Laters." Sherlock quickly ducked into the car and slammed the door shut before John could say anything else. In the brief time it took the taxi to pull into traffic, Molly saw Mary's expression morph into a sly grin. Her friend flashed a discrete thumbs up in their direction.

"She knows." Molly looked down and nervously fiddled with the cuff of her cardigan sleeve. "Mary knows."

"What happened in the theatre? Doubtful. That we're on our way to shag like the world is about to end? Highly probable."

Her eyes shot upward to study his expression. "Is that we're going to do?" she asked.

Her tone was meant to be teasing, but some of her uncertainty must have slipped through because Sherlock leaned closer and cupped her cheek with one of his hands. "Oh yes," he murmured as he nuzzled his nose against her ear. "But first I'm going to do exactly what I promised. I'm going to use my fingers and my tongue and I'm going to make you come."

Molly's control broke. She shoved both of her hands into his curls and pulled him into her lap. She nipped at his lips, demanding access. Sherlock groaned against her mouth in approval. He pushed her back against the seat without breaking their kiss. As he parted his lips for her, Molly felt his hand drop to her bum and squeeze.

She had no idea how long they would have remained lost in each other, making out like adolescents in the back of a car, if the cabbie hadn't softly coughed several times in an effort to attract their attention.

Molly raised her head at the sound and Sherlock took advantage of the movement to lick at the newly bared skin of her throat.

The cabbie coughed again, and she finally realized they'd come to a stop. Sherlock waved a dismissive hand toward the front of the cab but didn't stop his onslaught of kisses and nips along her neck. She tugged on his hair, trying to get his attention.

"Look, mate, it's not that I mind giving you and your lady a bit of time, but I have to let you know the meter is still running." Molly met the cabbie's eyes in the rearview mirror and he shrugged apologetically. "I could go 'round the block a few more times, if you'd like?"

Sherlock finally drew away from her and took stock of their surroundings. His lips were red and swollen, his hair even more mussed than normal. "That won't be necessary."

He pulled out his wallet and passed several bills to the driver, then got out of the cab. The driver leaned over to call out a cheerful "Thanks!" as Molly scooted across the seat and out to the pavement in front of Baker Street.

She hadn't really thought about where they were going, so she wasn't sure why she was surprised to find that Sherlock had brought them to his place.

Mrs Hudson came bustling out of her flat just as he took Molly's hand to lead her up the stairs. "Oh, Sherlock, you gave me a fright. I wasn't expecting you back so soon. John said you lot were going to be out late." She smiled at Molly. "It's lovely to see you, again. Did this one rope you into helping with a case? Should I bring up a pot of tea?"

He groaned and hurried up the stairs, tugging Molly along behind him. "No time for tea, Mrs Hudson. On a tight schedule, lots to do before we have to leave again." He paused just above the landing and leaned over the banister. "You may want to turn up the volume on your telly for the next twenty minutes."

"Sherlock!" Molly lightly smacked him in the arm with her free hand.

She saw him roll his eyes before he called down to his landlady once more. "Never mind, forget I said anything. Although do try to ignore anything you're about to hear, for all our sakes."

Molly gaped at him as he finished dragging her up the stairs and into his rooms. He slammed the door shut behind her, then took her face between his hands and proceeded to snog her breathless.

After a long, long moment Sherlock pulled back and looked at her. She wanted nothing more than to yank him close again by his coat lapels. He seemed to know what was on her mind because he took a step away and shrugged out of the Belstaff, leaving it in a heap on the floor.

"Still yes?" His voice was low and silky.

Molly gasped at the way it seemed to resonate deep in her core. "I swear to God if you don't get naked I'm going to do something drastic."

Sherlock's lips tilted upward in the most devastatingly naughty grin she'd ever seen. "I thought you'd never ask."

He tossed his suit jacket over the back of John's old chair and began to work on his shirt buttons. "Aren't you going to join me?"

She realized she'd been standing there watching him instead of removing her own clothes. Molly took a bit more care with hers, taking the time to fold each piece before putting them on the table next to Sherlock's sofa. By the time she was down to her khakis he was naked and reaching out to reverently ghost the tips of his fingers along the upper swell of her breasts and down to the indent of her waist.

Heat infused her skin, generated from the trail of his fingertips outward.

Her gaze was drawn to his muscular arms, the paleness of his chest, and lower. His penis was fully erect and beautiful, there really was no other word for it.

He stepped closer and nuzzled his face against her jaw. "Oh, Molly," Sherlock rasped. "If you keep looking at me like that I'll never be able to hold off long enough to keep my promise." He tugged at the button of her trousers and worked it open. "Trust me, you want me to keep my promise."

She believed him.

Molly toed off her shoes as Sherlock hooked his thumbs into her khakis and eased them over her hips. Once they hit the floor, he slid his hands around to her bum and squeezed. Molly liked that. She liked it so much that she took his mouth and sucked his lower lip between her teeth. He groaned and shifted his hands lower before pulling her up against his chest. Her heels left the ground, forcing her up to her toes. She could feel his erection against her belly, trapped between them.

There was no guarantee she would ever get an opportunity like this again, and Molly wasn't about to waste it. She put her arms around his shoulders and raised her knee up against his thigh. Sherlock took the hint and lifted her the rest of the way off the floor so that she could wrap her legs around him. They both groaned as his cock rubbed against her knickers.

She could feel him moving, his feet carefully shuffling along so he could cross the room without putting her down or pulling his mouth from hers. After a few steps he lowered her, and she squeaked at the feel of cool leather against her bare back and legs. He'd set her down in his chair before dropping to his knees in front of her. His long fingers hooked into the waistband of her knickers and he urged her to lift her bum so he could slowly pull them down her legs and off.

Sherlock ran his hands up her calves before nudging her knees apart so that he could shift closer. Those hands skimmed up her thighs until his thumbs were close enough to brush against the close cropped curls between her legs.

Molly's breath hitched. "Please."

"Soon, Molly. Very soon." Sherlock leaned close and pressed an open mouthed kiss against the inside of her thigh. His thumbs moved deeper between her legs, dipped into her cleft to find the wetness there.

The expression on his face as he touched her—gentle pressure circling her clit then lower—was almost worshipful. Molly knew it would be burned into her mind for the rest of her life.

Sherlock slid his hands under her arse and pulled her to the edge of the chair. He dipped his head and Molly tensed. He parted her and swept his tongue against clit.

"Oh, fuck!" she hissed. Her nails dug into the arms of his chair, grasping for something to hold on to.

"Yes, talk to me, Molly. Tell me what you like, tell me how to make you come. I want to hear you." He hooked her calf over his shoulder and licked her again.

"There, right there." She sunk her hand into his hair, guiding him to the right spot. "Fingers, use your, oohh, that's it, that's perfect." Molly's toes began to curl. It didn't take much more for her to come, loudly calling out his name.

She fell back against the chair, boneless. Through half-lidded eyes she watched Sherlock sit back on his heels and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. His cock was hard and proud, and Molly bit her lip at the sight of him stroking himself. "Condom?"

Sherlock's eyes widened and his hand stilled, and Molly's heart sank. She was about to suggest there were other things they could do besides penetrative sex when Sherlock dove across the floor for his trousers.

"Hold that thought. Don't move, and for the love of God do not get dressed!"

"Sherlock?" She was momentarily distracted by his arse, which was gorgeous and definitely biteable. Molly slid to the floor behind him. "I wasn't planning to get dressed, I swear."

She thought she heard him mutter, "Thank fuck," under his breath as he dug his wallet out of his back pocket. Seconds later he turned and brandished a condom like a hard won trophy. Molly snatched it from between his fingers and set it down within reach.

"Do you always carry a condom with you?" she teased as she let him pull her close enough to kiss. Any other time it might have bothered her if she let herself think about it; but she couldn't bring herself to care about why he had one at the moment, since it meant they wouldn't have to stop doing what they were doing now.

"Fairly recent development," Sherlock assured her. He reclined so he was lying on the rug, and Molly leaned over to kiss him again. The moment she moved her lips away from his Sherlock cupped her face in both hands and held her still so she could see his expression. "Three weeks and two days recent."

Molly frowned at the oddly specific number. "Three weeks and . . ." Her eyes widened in shock and she pulled free to sit back on her bum with a thump.

He dropped his head back against the rug and grimaced. "Should have kept my mouth shut, shouldn't I? Yes, right after you dumped the last one. Randy? Reginald?"

"Richard." He'd been a decent enough man, a bit boring. On the short side, blond, nothing like the sort of men she'd been attracted to in the past. They'd only gone on four dates. Well, three and a half. She'd run into Sherlock while they were waiting to be seated at a nice Chinese place. Sherlock had needed her help with a case, and Richard had let her go without an argument. That had been that. What kind of a boyfriend lets his date run off with another bloke without even a token protest? The kind of guy who wasn't that keen on being a boyfriend (at least not Molly's boyfriend), or so she figured.

"How could I have forgotten good old Dick."

She had no clue why he sounded so bitter. She was the one who had dated the man.

"So you went out and bought condoms because I broke up with my boyfriend?" That still wasn't making much sense.

He shook his head and blushed. "No. Mary did. Suggested I should keep one on me in case . . ."

"In case what?" Molly had a suspicion. Hope, really.

Sherlock grabbed her hand and tugged her close again. She fell against his chest, and his free hand buried itself in her hair. "In case I stopped being an idiot. Can we talk about this later? There's something else I'd much rather be doing right now."

He released her hand so that he could palm her breast and Molly decided to let herself be distracted. The sensation of his thumb brushing against her nipple with slowly increasing pressure had her sighing against his mouth. "Oh, that's lovely."

If his erection had waned while they'd been talking, it was back to full attention. Molly wrapped her hand around his length. Sherlock moaned and buried his head against her neck. She felt his teeth scrape against her collar bone, biting down just hard enough to make her squirm but not enough to hurt.

"Good?" she asked, even though she was already well aware of how much he was enjoying the way she touched and stroked his cock.

"Indescribably." He arched his back and pulled her closer so that he could put his talented mouth to use on her small breasts. Sherlock paid particular attention to her nipples, playing with the tight buds with his tongue and teeth.

"Molly, you don't, oh God, you don't know how close you came to making me embarrass myself at the theatre." His breathing became heavier, faster. "Another few minutes and I would have . . . Fuck."

He was breath-taking like this. Legs splayed open and restless, his hips moving in an unconscious rhythm that urged her to stroke him just a bit faster, his hair dampened with sweat at his temples, face flushed, and his eyes—oh his eyes—were focused intently on her.

Molly ached just from looking at him.

"All I could think about was being inside you, making you come. I need to be inside you."

She nodded and swung a leg over him so that she was sitting on his thighs. When they both reached for the condom at the same time, Molly realized her hands were shaking. She let him rip the foil packet apart and sheath himself. Sherlock used one hand to position his cock as she raised up onto her knees and then . . .

And then she slowly sank down on him, and they both moaned as he filled her.

Molly had once imagined that their first time together would be soft and sweet, with tender words and gentle touches. This was hot and primal, with filthy demands and sweat slicked flesh. And it was glorious.

Her nails dug into his chest as she held herself upright. Their combined movements made her ponytail sway against her back. Sherlock's fingers dug into her waist, pulling her down hard with each upward snap of his hips.

"Molly!" He was close, and she wasn't that far behind. One of her hands moved to her clit. Sherlock watched her touch herself. "Oh fuck, that's . . ."

The first flutters of her orgasm began, clenching her inner muscles around his cock. With a barely muffled groan, Sherlock's head fell back and his thrusts stuttered.

She collapsed in a sweat heap against his chest, utterly sated and breathless. Eventually he rolled to his side, careful to make sure she was comfortable before he slipped free and disappeared into the bathroom to take care of the condom.

He returned with a damp flannel for her, and joined her on the floor. Sherlock was extremely comfortable with his nudity, and Molly tried to let some of his confidence rub off on her. Now that they weren't actively having sex, she wasn't sure what she was supposed to do.

Was this a one off? Should she gather up her things and thank him for a lovely evening?

He reached down to brush his fingertips against her cheek. "Sorry we didn't make it to the bedroom."

"It's fine." Molly sat up and tried to tell herself the rapid beating of her heart was just a by-product of the incredible sex they'd just had and it had nothing to do with the tender look in his eyes. "It was . . . fine."

Sherlock laughed and leaned closer, slipping his fingers under her chin and tilting her face up so that he could briefly press his lips against hers. "Just fine? I'll have to try harder next time."

Impossibly, her heart began to pound even harder. "Next time?"

"Don't you want a next time?" His lips turned down into a pout, an expression she was very familiar with.

"Do you?" Molly shot back. She thought she knew the answer to that, but she needed to hear him say it.

"You have no idea." He began to pepper little kisses against her lips as he talked. "I've wanted . . . so long now . . . I just couldn't . . . didn't know how to make the first move." Sherlock drew back and smiled at her. "And then you did it for me."

Sherlock kissed her so hard her head spun. When he finally pulled away, she was the one with the dopey grin on her face. "I didn't really mean to, though. I lost a Wotsit."

He blinked at her. "What?"

"It was my last cheese puff. It fell in your lap, and I just sort of went after it." Molly watched his face, a bit worried about what he was going to say now that she'd admitted the truth. "In my defence, I hadn't eaten lunch and I was really hungry."

"A Wotsit." Sherlock stared at her for a long moment, then he started to smirk. "We are stopping to pick up a bag, the biggest one they've got, on the way back here after Mary's birthday dinner. I imagine I'll be ready for a light snack just before bed, if you'd care to join me?"

Silly man. As if there was any doubt. "Oh God, yes."


End file.
